


you got it, tiny friend

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: I haven't used that relationship tag in ... in millennia ..., Light Angst, M/M, Patrick is tiny, This is weird and cute, have fun, it's only platonic anyways but dAng, super light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11985441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: He isn't sure what to do, so he just clears his throat. The miniature person in the dollhouse looks up at him, sobs slowing as he takes in the sight of Pete above him.Pete stares back down at the guy, not sure what to do. He clears his throat again and slowly begins, "Hello?"





	you got it, tiny friend

**Author's Note:**

> ajshnsjshs I know what you're thinking. "Joey's posting Peterick again ??? is the world ending ???"
> 
> 1) yes, 2) found this unfinished in my drafts (by unfinished I mean the first five paragraphs were written) and was inspired bc the idea was kinda cute. leave me alone. it's platonic. it's 3 am. help me
> 
> enjoy!

"Thanks again, man. She'll love it," Joe says warmly. 

Pete laughs into the phone. "Yeah. Tell her happy birthday, and I'll see her at her party tomorrow."

"Okay," Joe promises, and then says, "Bye." 

"Bye," Pete replies, and hangs up. 

He sighs and turns back to the extravagant dollhouse sitting across from him in the basement. It's an antique; all white walls, pinkish-red shingled roof, and extremely detailed exteriors (complete with painted deep green ivy crawling up the walls). He hasn't tried to look inside it yet; he's planning to just give it to Joe's daughter at her birthday party tomorrow and be done with it. After all, that's the only thing he'd bought it for. 

He leans back on the couch, bored and tired. He has nothing to do but sleep, and at this point he just doesn't feel like going back to his actual bed. He's almost fallen asleep on the couch's scratchy fabric when he hears something. 

He blinks his eyes open and looks around. Did he imagine that? He must have. But no, he didn't, because then he hears it again. A small, persistent sound that sounds almost like...crying?

Pete sits up and looks around again. He doesn't see anyone, but he's sure he's not imagining the crying. He isn't _that_ tired. Yet. 

He gets off the couch and wanders around, trying to trace the sobs to their source. After a minute, he thinks he knows where they're coming from. It sounds like the cries originate at...the dollhouse? 

Frowning, Pete walks the rest of the way (just a couple steps, really) over to the ornate kids' toy. The crying does seem to get louder as he nears the dollhouse, so it does appear that that would be the source of the sound. But that can't be right, can it?

Pete kneels down in front of the house. It's huge, at least for a dollhouse - maybe four feet tall, and he's about the same height as it when he kneels down like this. 

The crying sounds even closer now. Pete would guess it's coming from the top floor. For the first time, he steps back and opens the dollhouse, pulling it open by the hinges. 

And holy shit, _there's someone in there._

A small figure is shaking on the little blue couch set in the house's "attic". He's wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and a tiny hat is discarded on the ground next to the couch. His arms are crossed over his chest as he shakes and tiny tears fall down his tiny cheeks. Pete stares. He can't help it. What the hell?

He isn't sure what to do, so he just clears his throat. The miniature person in the dollhouse looks up at him, sobs slowing as he takes in the sight of Pete above him. 

Pete stares back down at the guy, not sure what to do. He clears his throat again and slowly begins, "Hello?"

The guy seems to freeze up, stiffening as he stares up at Pete. Pete is very unsure of what to do next, so he opts to just set his hand down in front of the tiny person. He isn't sure exactly what he means by it, but the little guy looks at his hand and slowly climbs onto it, looking like he's carefully calculating every step. Once he's on, Pete slowly lifts his hand up to his face and stares at the guy who's sitting on it. He still isn't over the initial shock of _hey look a tiny person_ , but he's working on it. 

Up close, Pete can now note the exact dark blonde color of the guy's hair, and the multitude of colors present in his eyes. Up close, it also becomes evident that he's _shaking._

"Hey. Hey, man," Pete says, keeping his voice as low as possible as not to scare this guy further. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

The guy just shakes his head and curls up on Pete's hand, shaking even harder. Pete can feel the press of the tiny man's hair against the skin of his hand. He takes a deep breath and tries again. 

"Hey, I'm serious. I...just talk to me, please?" he pleads, watching as the tiny person in his hand takes a couple deep breaths, and as his shakes slow down. 

Then he whispers, just barely audibly, "I'm scared."

Pete's heart breaks right then and there, because this guy he's just met, who is also about as tall as his middle finger, seems so genuinely sad, and fuck. It hurts Pete to see. He chokes back a sob of his own and manages, "I can put you down. I can leave. I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, it's fine," the guy murmurs. He's still curled up tightly in Pete's hand, the side of his miniature face pressed into Pete's skin. "Give me a minute. I'm sorry."

"It's, uh. It's okay," Pete says, dumbfounded. He watches as the tiny figure in his hand takes a couple more deep breaths, then slowly uncurls himself from the fetal position, sitting up gradually in Pete's hand. 

Finally, he looks up to Pete, meeting Pete's eyes, and greets him faintly, "Uh, hello."

Pete tries to decide how to respond to this. There is a five-inch-tall man sitting in the palm of his hand and he isn't sure he knows what he's supposed to do in this situation. 

Finally, he opts to simply respond with an answering, "Hi."

The small man looks unsure of what to do next. He shifts nervously in Pete's hand and starts, "Um...uh, what's your name?"

"Pete," Pete answers automatically, still gazing quizzically down at the miniature figure in his palm. He realizes he should probably return the question. "And yours?"

"Uh, I'm Patrick," the man answers quietly, staring back up at Pete anxiously. 

"Okay, Patrick," Pete begins, brow furrowed. "May I ask, uh... _why are you shorter than a ruler_?"

Patrick continues to stare up at Pete, his face screwed up in concentration, like he's trying to decide if he should trust Pete or not. He must choose the former, because he answers, voice hushed, "I, well...I got myself cursed."

"Huh," Pete says, because that really isn't the weirdest part of this situation. He remains silent otherwise, hoping Patrick will go on.

"That's it," Patrick says, as if sensing Pete's hopes. "There's really nothing else to it."

"Yeah there is," Pete disputes. He elaborates when Patrick gives him a questioning look, "How the fuck did you end up in a dollhouse?"

"Oh." Patrick frowns. "Not much to that either. Some old lady found me and thought I was a doll. I kinda just went along with it because I think it would've been bad if she realized I wasn't. Turns out she owned an antique shop, and she left me in there. Not very fun."

"Oh," Pete says, grimacing. "That's...that sucks, I'm sorry."

Patrick shrugs, looking down. "Nothing I could do about it. Not much I can do in general, actually. I've just gotta go along with whatever happens."

"Huh." Pete looks down at the tiny body in his hand, trying to figure out what he's supposed to say next, what he's supposed to do. He finally offers, "Uh, I don't know, I could totally try and help you break the curse, if you want...?"

Patrick laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "I appreciate the offer, but it's not that kind of curse. It's not a fairy tale story, it's real life. It doesn't get reversed. This is just my life now."

"Oh." Pete blinks. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's shit."

"Kinda," Patrick agrees under his breath. "But I'll figure it out."

Pete cocks his head to the side, a thought occurring to him. "Uh, hey, you could totally stay here if you wanted."

Patrick's head snaps up immediately, eyes hopeful. "Really? I...you - you don't even know me. I'm a tiny guy you found in a toy house less than an hour ago. You'd do that?"

"Of course," Pete says, smiling warmly. "You seem super nice, and also I feel super bad. I don't really know where exactly you can stay or whatever, but you can stay."

Patrick hesitates for a brief moment, then a hesitant grin spreads across his face. "Fuck. Thank you."

"Of course, little dude," Pete says, beaming. 

"Okay, first rule of me staying here is that you never call me that again," Patrick scolds, eyes narrowing. 

"Mhm, sure." Pete has no intention of actually following through with that, but he'll let Patrick think he does. For now, at least. "You got it, tiny friend." Okay, or he can just keep up the nicknames. That too. 

"Second rule of me staying here, _not that either_." Patrick wags a warning finger, which kind of backfires because Pete just finds how minuscule the finger is hilarious. 

"Stop laughing!" Patrick complains. "This isn't funny!"

"Right, right, sorry," Pete says, but he can't wipe the grin off his face. 

Patrick leans back a little, settling into a comfortable seated position in Pete's hand and asking, "And, uh, do you have any food? Because I don't know how long I've been in there and I lived off a single Cheeto someone dropped in once. Which is actually a fair amount for me, but-"

"Yes! I have food!" Pete interrupts, happy for an opportunity to help his new friend out. "Come on, minuscule partner, we are going to the kitchen!"

He slips a loudly complaining Patrick into his shirt pocket, which only earns another round of loud complaints, but as he heads up the stairs, Patrick's head pokes out the top and he says, slightly less huffy, "Uh, thanks for this."

"No problem, small pal," Pete responds, holding back a peal of laughter as Patrick's face goes red and he starts complaining again. 

As Pete wanders into his kitchen, he smiles affectionately down at the tiny head poking out of his pocket, currently occupied with an extended diatribe banning Pete from using every synonym of "tiny". Pete will find a way around that at some point. 

This is weird. This is _really_ weird. But Pete thinks he can make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of intended to be the first fic in a series. This is meant to establish the AU. So you know what that means! Yeah! Send me prompts for this 'verse at my tumblr (vicesandvelociraptors) so I can continue the 'verse!! Woo!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
